


Origins

by SilverCyanide (LemonFairy)



Series: Legerdemain [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Gen, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Multi, Other, Queer Themes, References to Homophobia, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonFairy/pseuds/SilverCyanide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Combeferre are determined to start an LGBT+ group on campus. Unfortunately, the administration is not on their side. (Except, it seems, for Combeferre's religion professor and his daughter.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origins

**Author's Note:**

> [Made a few minor edits. Also, I have seen zir/zirs go with ze and zie, and picked ze for this fic.] Future trigger warnings in the universe for pretty much anything related to queer themes.

It starts over dinner.

Enjolras and Combeferre don’t always eat together, but they try to make time at least once a week. Part of that is so they’ll really talk, and part of that is they are both atrocious at eating real food unless forced. It’s one of these evenings just a few weeks into term when, over decent spaghetti and surprisingly okay salads in the cramped kitchenette of their suite, Enjolras brings it up.

“I want to start an LGBTQIA group.”

Combeferre sets his glass down and studies zir. “You mean like a GSA or something?” Ze shrugs.

“Sure, except ‘GSA’ is an incredibly narrow term and particularly frustrating since while the inclusion of allies is not—”

“But that’s the general idea?” Combeferre clarifies before Enjolras can get too far into a tangent. Zir talent for that is incredible, and while Combeferre appreciates it at times, now is not one of those.

“Yes.” Enjolras cuts another mouthful of spaghetti, which makes Combeferre cringe; it is  _pasta_ , meant to be  _twirled_. “I double checked, just in case anything had sprung up, but we’re still woefully lacking in  _any_  sort of gender and sexuality group, which is absolutely appalling.” Combeferre nods his agreement as ze is occupied with a mouthful of pasta.

“I can’t say I disagree, especially given campus isn’t a particularly safe space.” He thinks about the gay joke one of his professors cracked in class last week, as if it wasn’t too early in the semester for this sort of bullshit. Combeferre would have dropped the class, but it was a day too late, and Intro Psych isn’t a course he can just skirt around.

“I think it could do a lot of good.” Enjolras’ voice is firm, but there’s an added spark in zir eyes that only pops up when ze’s really passionate about something. “The chance to provide a comfortable environment and also rally for legislative change in both a college and real world setting is incredibly important, especially because so far the administration seems to think  _we don’t exist_.” Combeferre knows ze is thinking of zirself, designated to “male or female” on the rooming form, of Courfeyrac who was forced to live in an uncomfortable dorming situation last year by campus rules. He admits, it would be nice to have more of a voice.

“We’ll draft something up,” he promises, and that is that.

 

All of the spare time they have (which is, admittedly, not a lot) over the next week is dedicated to drafting a proposal. Enjolras writes the bulk of it, but Combeferre runs over everything to smooth the wording out and make it less confrontational. (Much to Enjolras’ disappointment, since “how are they going to learn how  _disgusting_  they are if we don’t point it out to them  _full force_?”) They intend to go to Dean Javert with the dangerously-long proposal on Wednesday, but Enjolras gets fed up on Tuesday afternoon and storms into the dean’s office with neither an appointment nor Combeferre by his side.

“You need to treat LGBT students equally,” ze starts, “and I would like to offer you the chance to begin that process by granting my friend and I permission to start a—GSA.” Enjolras hates the term, but Combeferre had argued over its ability to be recognized, an argument which won out in the end.

Javert frowns. He glances down at the stack of paper Enjolras has tossed on his desk and skims through a few pages. Enjolras is standing, hands flat on Javert’s desk, posture confrontational. After a moment, Javert looks up at zir.

“I cannot do that,” he says, and before Enjolras can get out a word of protest, Javert continues, “School policy dictates we treat everyone  _equally_ , which means no  _special_  treatment is allowed. Such a group would clearly violate those codes.”

Enjolras goes to protest, but Javert has already pressed the proposal back into zir hands. “Good day.”

As much as ze wants to, Enjolras knows pressing the issue is no use. Ze takes zir leave, and if the door rattles in the frame on the way out, well, ze feels no shame.

Ze expects Combeferre to be back in their suite by the time ze gets back, but he’s still gone, so ze indulges and flops onto the couch with a pout. Unfortunately for zir, Combeferre arrives minutes later; the look Enjolras is sporting tells him everything he needs to know, and he is barely in the room before he says, “They said no?”

Enjolras sighs. “Yes,” ze admits, and though zir voice isn’t defeated, it’s certainly not optimistic. “He didn’t even give me a chance.”

Combeferre wishes he was surprised. “We’ll find a way around it,” he reassures, sitting down next to his friend. Enjolras runs a hand through unruly blond curls, frustrated flush high on zir cheeks. Something clicks in Combeferre’s mind.

“I have an idea.” He is sure to keep his voice steady, because he does not want to get Enjolras’ hopes up. “I was… just at office hours, talking to Professor Valjean and... obviously, if the school won’t let us, they won’t let us, but he… I could see him being a staff advocate or sponsor.” Enjolras’ brows rise.

“He teaches religion,” ze says pointedly. Combeferre shrugs.

“And he believes in God’s overwhelming love for everyone,” Combeferre says. It feels foolish to admit, but he tested the waters during their conversation that afternoon, perhaps a bit too personally, and Professor Valjean’s response had been incredibly comfortable.

“Great,” Enjolras says, and though ze doesn’t sound incredibly enthusiastic, that spark is still there. “Let’s set up a meeting.”

“Let me broach the topic,” Combeferre replies quickly. “We both know you can come over rather… strong.”

“As I should,” ze immediately argues, “It’s  _despicable_  the way people are treated, especially by authority figures who—”

“I know, I know,” Combeferre soothes. “But just… let me, please?” Enjolras gives him a long look but finally acquiesces.

 

The next afternoon, Combeferre ends up back in Professor Valjean’s office. He must be some sort of insane man, because he holds office hours every day of the week and answers emails at all hours of the night, but right now that is working in Combeferre’s favor. When he knocks on the door frame, Professor Valjean looks up from a pile of papers and smiles.

“Ah, Will, can I help you?” His eyes are warm and kind. “I must admit—I wasn’t expecting you back so soon, I haven’t looked over the article you suggested me yet.” Combeferre enters and smiles; he drops into the chair to the side of Professor Valjean’s desk, placed so they’ll feel a little more like equals.

“It’s actually not about that,” Combeferre says. “It’s…” He takes a moment to find the proper words. Professor Valjean waits, non-judgmental.

“My roommate and I are very interested in starting an LGBTQIA group on campus, to act as a safe space and a base for political change.”

The corners of Professor Valjean’s eyes crinkle in a smile. “I would be entirely willing to sponsor that,” he replies. Combeferre’s answering smile is weak.

“That would be appreciated, professor. Our problem is, the administration has turned us out before even giving us a chance, because they feel it would be ‘special treatment’.” Professor Valjean’s brow furrows.

“I have found,” he admits, “that it is often futile to argue with them.” Combeferre’s stomach sinks a bit. He is not sure what he expected to hear, but part of him had certainly hoped Professor Valjean would tell Combeferre he would help fight for their cause.

“However,” Professor Valjean continues, almost conspiratorially, “it is… not uncommon for students to have dinner at professors’ homes, if you and your friend would be interested in joining me soon for a discussion on an, ahem, roundabout way to achieve your goal.”

Combeferre can’t help his grin. “That would be incredible, sir.”

 

That is how, the next evening, Enjolras and Combeferre find themselves ringing the doorbell to Professor Valjean’s house. To their intense surprise, a girl with golden skin and long, dark hair who looks a few years younger than them opens the door.

“You must be here to see Papa,” she says kindly as they toe off their shoes. On cue, Professor Valjean emerges from what must be the kitchen down the hall.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, and his voice is as warm as his house. Enjolras, who hates meeting new people, relaxes just a little.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” ze says, extending zir hand. Professor Valjean’s handshake is firm but pleasant. Most of Combeferre’s nerves flee.

“Ah, excuse me—this is my daughter, Cosette,” he introduces, and though she looks nothing like him, they share the same kind eyes. She smiles brightly. “Cosette, these are two of my students.”

“Technically, I’m not your student,” Enjolras corrects immediately. Combeferre wants to slap zir because they  _need Professor Valjean’s help_ , but Professor Valjean just chuckles.

“That,” he replies, “is true.” Then something beeps in the kitchen, and he starts. “And  _that_  would be the lasagna. Come, come.”

Combeferre and Enjolras follow him down the hall, and Cosette brings up the rear. Their kitchen is small but ridiculously homey, very unlike the shitty kitchenette in the dorm Enjolras and Combeferre share. The sturdy round wooden table is laid out for four, and so Enjolras and Combeferre seat themselves as Professor Valjean takes food out of the oven and Cosette pulls milk out of the fridge.

The first few moments of the meal are awkward: just starting the beginning of their second year, neither has properly been over to a professors home before; there’s a slightly uncomfortable moment when Valjean and Cosette say grace; and neither Enjolras nor Combeferre know quite how to broach the topic of dismissing school authority in order to start a social and political LGBT group. Luckily, they don’t have to.

“I’m certain you’ve given this more thought than I have,” say Professor Valjean, “so please, disillusion me, because I have been turning the idea of your GLBT group over for the past day and am, sadly, at a loss for official directions in which to take this.” A frown settles across Combeferre’s face, and he continues, “I am certainly willing to contribute in whatever way possible, but my position as a professor makes—ah, things perhaps more difficult rather than less.”

Enjolras sets zir fork down. “The most preferable way would be to petition to the administration straight on about the disgustingly unfair treatment they display toward LGBT students—” Combeferre kicks him under the table, and Enjolras inhales sharply, “however, we… recognize that may not be too practical, especially without a group of others to join us.”

Combeferre can feel Enjolras’ frustration already mounting, so he steps in. “We have discussed the possibility of a more unofficial group, but are struggling with locations. I… admit, neither of us is opposed to simply commandeering a classroom, but that could get uncomfortable and confusing. We entertained the idea of holding meetings in public, but felt the need for privacy in order to create a safer space would make that an inopportune location.”

Professor Valjean crosses his hands and looks pensive, frown lingering at the corners of his lips. Next to Enjolras, Cosette’s glass clinks against the table.

“We could hold meetings here,” she says immediately. All eyes turn to her with varied levels of shock and interest. She flushes a little and brushes a strand of messy black hair behind her ear, but her voice is firm as she says, “We’ve got a perfectly good finished basement.”

Enjolras looks like ze could kiss her. Combeferre, though a little more hesitant, is hopeful. He glances at Professor Valjean, whose brow has furrowed slightly as he contemplates. Finally, he answers, “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

The rest of dinner is easy, full of passionate chatter from both Enjolras and Combeferre on the merits (and need) of political activism in college students and safe spaces and the struggles of queer representation. By the time they leave, hearts a little lighter with a ‘fuck you, institution’ running through their souls, they have set next Thursday at seven in the evening for their first official meeting. 


End file.
